


Shattered

by veritas_st



Series: Stanford Era Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: Final in the Stanford Era Verse.  Name from the song Shattered by Trading Yesterday.Set sometime after Home.All this time spent in vain; wasted years wasted gain.  All is lost but hope remains and this war's not over...yesterday I died, tomorrow's bleeding.  Fall into your sunlight...





	Shattered

Sam thinks its funny that when someone dies they become so much greater than they were in life. Not that Jess wasn't great. She was pretty much perfect. Kind and sweet and understanding and beautiful in a soft way. But she's become so much more perfect to all of Sam's old friends since the "horrible accident" that claimed her life. Death gives one a lot of friends. Ok, so its funny in the “so not funny” kind of way. But its vaguely amusing, enough that Sam, in his current alcohol induced haze, actually laughs. 

Dean hooks an eyebrow at him from across the table, through the smoke in the bar. And it seems to Sam that he's always looking at Dean through smoke. 

“What's funny?” He asks, thumb absent-mindedly shredding the damp label on the beer bottle that's currently held in a death grip in his hand. Sam leans forward and prises his fingers loose. Dean's eyes go wide and he jerks his hand away.

So its happening again. Sam trying to coax Dean into something that he's pretty sure his brother wants, even though he wont admit it. But Dean, ever the protector, wont give in to Sam's pleading, because, in his words, _he's hurting, grieving_ , and Dean wont be some _rebound skank_ for Sam. 

Plus they both keeping having these lapses in concentration where one of them forgets and touches the other. It sends a jolt through them both and they stare wide eyed at each other, just like now. Dean blinks once and the spell is broken, back to normal. Everything's fine. _Yeah right._

“Nothing. Nothing's funny.” He replies. Dean stares at him over the table, his fingers stilled on the bottle. Sam can't shake the feeling that they are having a conversation without speaking. They way Dean's fingers start shredding the label again, the tense line of his shoulders, the sigh that Sam lets out. It all means something but Sam for the life of him can't figure it out. 

“Sam...” The tone of Dean's voice is commanding and Sam stiffens. It hasn't been easy these last couple of months. Sam's been running himself into the ground, going headlong into jobs, driving himself to distraction. Anything to stop himself from thinking about failing Jess, about Jess dying because of what family Sam was born into. Anything to stop himself from begging Dean to take it all away. Because its only when Dean is touching him that he's not plagued with visions of Jess. 

“Dean. I'm fine.” He tries to convince himself, but he's so far from fine that he can't even lie properly. 

“Well no, actually Sam, you aren't.” Its said in a tone that leaves no room for argument or further discussion but Sam opens his mouth anyway, because he's the younger brother, its what he does. Dean gives him a stern look and gets up from the table, the chair scraping across the floor is strangely loud in the bar. But its Dean that's making the noise so of course its loud. Because Sam can't ever separate Dean and noise. Its like white noise though, indistinguishable and totally _Dean_ in a way that drives Sam crazy.

Sam doesn't even need to voice the question because Dean is already answering it anyway. 

“Tired Sam. Let's go.” Again, no room for argument even if Sam wanted to. Which he doesn't. He's tired, a little bit more than tipsy, alcohol warming his blood and he stumbles slightly. Dean reaches out a hand on instinct to catch him. And there's that thing again. The touching. And Sam leans into it this time. Steps into Dean's personal space. Not too close to attract attention from the other patrons but its obvious to Dean, who's breathing picks up a notch and his eyes widen minutely. 

Sam places his hand on Dean's arm, feels the muscles twitch under his touch then pulls away. Dean spares him one quick look that Sam can't quite read before turning away. And its odd, because whatever their relationship; strained, arguing, passionate; Sam has always been able to read Dean's looks. 

He catches sight of Dean's back as it slinks through the door and Sam follows, wondering, not for the first time, how to fix everything that's happened between them. 

Dean guides the Impala out of the car park, aiming her towards the road, Sam finds himself thinking on Dean again. Its not hard when he's sitting right next to him, fingers curled around the steering wheel. And Sam knows he should be thinking about Jess. About mom. About how Dean's still hurting from their visit _home_. But he can't stop watching Dean's jaw muscles quivering and thinking about him. About the way the sun follows the curve of his shoulders, about the strength of his arms, about the way that his eyes can go from hard to soft and what a gift it is to be looked at in that exact moment. About why Sam's trying his hardest to ignore how Dean's presence causes him to vibrate, makes his skin feel tight. Dean makes everything in Sam's life chaotic. He always has, stirred things the wrong way. But right now, when everything is messed up beyond his control, when Jess died, and his mother apologises to him for god knows what, Sam opens up and welcomes the chaos. Because its familar chaos. Its Dean. 

Dean suddenly pulls the car off the road, gravel spitting up from the hard shoulder against the bottom of the car. It takes Sam by surprise, but Dean always takes Sam by surprise. 

“Dean?” He asks. Dean turns the engine off and keeps staring forward, out at the darkening sky. Sam goes to touch him, to pull him out of his reverie but Dean moves, slips out of the car. He's running his hands through his short hair when Sam steps around the front of the Impala. Its a gesture that Sam has seen a thousand times before but it makes Sam want to stop him. Makes Sam want to run his own fingers through his hair. 

“Just need some air Sam.” He says. 

There is a storm building on the horizon, he can see the lightning in the distance, the air heavy with it, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. 

“Storms coming.” Sam says, more to himself than anything but he feels Dean shift beside him. 

“Ain't that the truth.” He replies. Its the conversation that isn't happening again, the babble of a too quite radio too far away to be heard. Sam scoffs slightly, at the ridiculousness of the situation. They are both hurting. Sam from the dull ache of the absence of Jess and the dull ache of the absence of Dean. Dean from the deep seated need for family and not having it, and hero worshipping an man who can't, or wont, come to help when Dean practically begs for it. 

“Deep. For you.” He jokes. Dean stares at him for a moment too long before smiling. It doesn't quite reach his eyes but he's trying and that makes it all the more radiant. 

“Shut up.” 

It seems all too normal, forced normality and Sam can't take it anymore. Sure he's damaged goods. He's hurting. But they both are. 

They have parts they need to fix between them. And Sam thinks of Dean fixing the Impala up, so many times Sam has watched him fix her up. Lovingly running his hands over the paintwork, explaining in that far off voice that he gets about how to tune her, to make her sing. But its all so discouraging. They have fought, evil creatures and each other, and they have won, for now at least, and they aren’t supposed to have to fight again, aren't supposed to have to fight for what they want. But its taken Sam entirely too long to figure out he wants Dean. And now he has he has to fight for it, fight against Dean's good intentions and shielded emotions. Its meant to be happily ever after right? Isn’t that the way stories are meant to go? 

\------------

“It's hard.” Dean hears himself saying. 

“What is?” 

“Everything.” Being here with Sam, trying to be normal. Trying to cure Sam's hurts but the only way he knows how to do that is with stitches, bandages, kisses and slow fucks in the back of the car and none of those are going to work right now. Because Sam has lost what he's strived for, for as long as Dean can remember. Found normal and lost it. And the last thing he wants right now is Dean giving his fucked up sense of sympathy. 

“Dean...” Sam has that voice on that speaks volumes. Sam has always been able to say so much with one word. This one means that Sam wants to heal Dean. But Dean doesn't need healing. He needs Sam, needs to feel him under his hands. He doesn't want to talk it better. Talking never got the Winchester's far. 

“Not now Sam, ok?”

Sam nods his head and the thunder sounds again, this time closer and Dean can imagine the clouds rolling towards them through the dark sky. They both look upwards at the same time, the moon now obscured by the encroaching, heavy, dark clouds. A wind blows between them and a few fat raindrops pelt down, splash on to the car, one lands of Dean's hand. 

“Should probably get in.” Dean says.

“Probably should.” Sam replies. Dean can hear it. The unspoken words. 

Both sit there, unmoving. Dean turns to look at Sam and starts when he realizes Sam is already looking at him, he's been focusing so hard on not noticing him, not noticing the way Sam kept looking at him, that he actually hadn’t noticed him. These months since Jess had died been torture for Dean as well as Sam. Sharing the same space as him, wanting him and knowing he couldn't have him again, that he was nothing compared to what he deserved. He had seen the hurt inside Sam that made him hard as glass and now the two are indistinguishable. He wants both of them; gentle Sammy, the younger brother with little hands reaching to him and hard, hurt Sam, who throws up walls and looks at him with strange eyes that don't look like Sam's. But Dean wants to hold them both in his hands. Wants to reach out and touch Sam, Sammy, his brother. Wants to protect him from everything, including himself. Because that's all Dean knows how to do. Except he's done a pretty crappy job of protecting Sam from himself. 

Sam watches him closely, eyes lucid and knowing, clear, and he knows that Sam can probably hear his thoughts, was probably listening to the litany running through his head.

“Stop thinking Dean.” He says, as if reading Dean's thoughts. Dean scoffs. And its almost easy to be brothers with him again. Maybe they can have this, this brotherly relationship. Normal. Even though it kills Dean to think of sharing space with Sam and not sharing space with Sam. 

“I feel like I'm at war with myself Sam.” He says. The idea coming out of no where. Wanting Sam, not letting himself. Wanting to find Dad, wanting to keep Sam all to himself. But its the truth and Sam deserves it. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam replies, “In war, all bets are off.” He slips off the Impala and moves in between Dean's legs, pushing his thighs apart as he crowds in. Dean's hands come up on their own accord and his fingers curl around Sam's arms. Sam leans closer and presses his lips to Dean's neck. 

The sky gives out in the exact moment that Dean gives in, and the heaven's open on them, rain heavy against their skin. He fists his hands in Sam's soaked hair, pulls his head back so his throat is bared to him and devours his neck like he has dreamt of so many times since Sam came back to him. 

Sam's skin is already wet, tastes of rain and sweat and _Sam_ , and god Dean has missed that. Missed being able to taste Sam, missed being able to lean across the space between them and lick at his brothers throat. Missed the noises that Sam is making right now, the desperate keens that escape his throat when Dean nips at his pulse point. Because nothing has ever sounded as good to Dean as that. Sam hands are trailing up his thighs, fingers digging into his hips and Dean knows there are going to be bruises tomorrow, but he honestly can't bring himself to care. Because he has Sam, Sam is here, in his grasp, and Sam's hips are bucking desperately into Dean's, almost like they have a mind of their own. 

And this is all Dean has ever needed. 

Sam pulls away and for a desperate second Dean thinks he's gone to far. Thinks that he's pushed Sam to far. But Sam smiles at him, an easy smile with a hint of the hunger that used to be there every time Sam looked at him. Before. And its ok, because Sam's hands are on his face and Sam is kissing him. Deep. Pushing his tongue in without asking, taking what he wants, what he needs from Dean, and Dean is more than happy to give it. 

Dean knows he should be putting a stop to this. Not because they are brothers and its so morally wrong, Dean has come to terms with that fact. Learnt not to think about it, or think about how this was almost inevitable. No, he should put a stop to this because Sam is still hurting from Jess. And Dean needs all of Sam. And he can't shake the feeling that Sam is doing this because he thinks Dean wants it. 

His hands move to Sam's chest and push slightly before his brain even has a chance to register what he's doing. Sam resists for a second, sucking on Dean's lower lip in a way that makes Dean's legs turn to jell-o and he thanks God he's sitting right now or he would probably be on his ass looking up at Sam. Something that looks decidedly like worry flickers across Sam's face. 

“This is us right?” He asks. Sam stares at him, not understanding for a few seconds, and it feels like hours until Sam nods. 

“Yeah, Dean.”

“No one else.”

“No, no one else. Just you and me.” Sam replies, wrapping his fingers into Dean's jacket and pulling him to his feet. Dean goes willingly, wanting to believe that Sam is telling the truth, that there is no one else here. But he can still feel ghosts that surround them. 

So many ghosts, so much blood of loved ones seeping into the earth. Sam and Dean's blood too. And they have both fought, both been hurt. But they are both here, both alive and that's all that matters. They can get through anything if they can just survive. 

“Sammy.” 

“Just you and me Dean. I promise.” 

And just like that Dean forgets all his internal arguments. The rain is hammering down, its loud against the car, large, fat raindrop splatting against the metal of the hood. Dean shakes his head like a dog, showering Sam with even more water and Sam laughs, pulls Dean closer and kisses him again. 

Sam manoeuvres them round the car, and Dean wonders how they don't both fall because they can't seem to let go of each other, their feet and legs get tangled and Dean finds himself being shoved against the side of the Impala. Sam laughs again at the look on Dean's face. Its easy, and feels so good to see Sam laugh that Dean just goes with it when Sam reaches around behind him and opens up the door. 

Dean goes to get in and Sam wraps his fingers around Dean's arm. His expression is hidden in the darkness and the rain that is pouring down his face, making his hair stick to his forehead. 

“No.” He says. Just one word and Dean understands. Sam pushes past him and gets in first, reaches up and pulls Dean on top of him, wrapping those freakishly long legs around Dean's waist and arches up. The soaking denim and the movement causes a string of curses to escape from Dean's throat and Sam laughs darkly. 

It takes a tangle of limbs, a few muffled curses and more than one banged knee to extract themselves from their wet clothes, denim sticking in the wrong places and rain soaked heavy jackets makes it harder to get them off shoulders. Dean's pretty sure he's going to have a black eye from Sam's elbow. But Sam pulls his face down, kisses around his eye tenderly and licks at Dean's skin in a way that makes Dean not care. He'll wear the bruise with pride if Sam would just do that again. 

And then there's skin. Sam's skin against Dean's skin. And its the most perfect thing that Dean has ever felt. Sam's skin is cool to the touch from the rain but Dean can feel the heat from his blood seeping through his palm when he trails his hand up Sam's thigh, whilst rolling his hips against Sam's. Sam arches off the back seat, bringing them flush together and begs, his voice rougher and deeper than normal and that is the tone of voice that Dean wants to hear for the rest of his life. 

Its a wrench to pull himself away from Sam, who's expression wavers slightly, but Dean all but throws himself across the front seat and scrambles around in the glove box for the bottle of lube that's been there since he went to get Sam, taunting him with its presence. His fingers curl around the bottle and he scrambles back to Sam, who's sprawled out on the back seat, naked, skin glistening from the rain and sweat, his cheeks flushed, his hand lazily stroking his own cock and its honestly the most debauched sight Dean has ever seen. 

He groans to himself as he flicks the lid open and slicks his fingers. Sam shifts as Dean reaches his fingers down and presses into his brothers body. Dean feels the muscles twitch around his fingers and Sam groans, bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Dean adds another finger and Sam's eyes practically roll back into his head. He forces a curse out of his throat that mingles with another plea, sounding broken and desperate. And Dean couldn't give a fuck about the cramped conditions as he grips Sam's thighs and slides in. He feels the same, that same delicious heat that drives Dean crazy and renders him incapable of speech. He leans forward and buries his head in the crook of Sam's neck, licking at the skin, whilst he fucks him in slow, deep thrusts. Sam sounds like he's dying, incessant pleas and keens spilling from his lips, like he can't stop them.

He feels Sam's hand wriggle in between them and wrap around his own cock, Sam's knuckles brushing against his stomach and it shouldn't be that much of a turn on, shouldn't make Dean's hips stutter, but it does. The thought of Sam touching himself whilst Dean fucks him is almost enough to drive him over the edge. But he stills his hips for a second, listening to the the rain hammering on the roof and the breathy moans coming from Sam, until the need to move again becomes too much and Sam shifts, pushing himself back on Dean. 

Dean can feel his own breath hot on Sam's neck, can feel Sam's pulse beating a rapid beat under his lips and he moves again, not slow this time, hard and fast and Sam groans, pulling the sound deep from within him and quivers once before his muscles twitch again and everything locks around Dean. He feels Sam come, feels his body shudder and the hot, sticky fluid bloom on his stomach and it only takes two more thrusts before Dean comes himself, buried deep in his brother like he should always be there. 

They're both trembling now, still damp with rain and sweat and come and its uncomfortable, but Dean wouldn't have it any other way. Not when Sam's hands come up and cradle his face, his thumb rubbing along his cheek bone, and its such a tender gesture that Dean's breath catches in his throat. 

“You ok?” Sam asks. Dean swallows at the sound of Sam's voice, its sounds like he's been shouting for hours, but is undeniably sexy and raspy and Dean shudders once more and pulls out of Sam. Sam winces slightly but shifts to the side and pulls Dean down next to him and wraps his arms around him, their legs entwined together. 

He runs a hand down Sam's spine and Sam arches into him. It doesn't surprise Dean that that simple movement sends a shiver down his body and his cock twitches. Because Sam has always had a way to make Dean feel like a desperate teenager. Sam's fingers are wrapped around Dean's arm and he's holding on like Dean is his life line. 

“Yeah Sammy. I'm good.” And he is. Really good. He manages to move enough to see Sam's expression and Sam looks content and sated and its pretty much the best thing Dean has ever seen. Sam smiles at him and pulls him down for a kiss that's slow and hot and perfect in a way that makes Dean's stomach clench. 

“Reckon we can get to a motel?” Sam asks. Dean lets out a small laugh and pushes at him. Sam sprawls in the footwell between the seats and looks up indignantly at Dean. It would be funny, the expression on Sam's face, if he didn't look so utterly fuckable. Sam's eyebrow raises in cocky arrogance that would look completely at home on Dean's face but on Sam's its strange and new and Dean can't deny that he likes it. And then Sam gets an evil glint in his eyes roughly two seconds before his soaking wet t-shirt lands on Dean's face and then Sam is laughing. The proper belly laugh that means that Sam is really happy. And sure, they're broken and fucked up, but they're them. 

Sam and Dean. 

And maybe this is the way _their_ story goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Watch the beautiful wincest video to the song on youtube here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ucu2Sz5cvU


End file.
